


A Sky For The Seeing

by grav_ity



Series: Heart of Stars [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grav_ity/pseuds/grav_ity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of the Five Armies, Tauriel goes out into the world in search of clearer stars and brighter skies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Hope For The Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> AN: New fic! More elves! Same feelings! I don't even know. Anyway, this is the second part of the story that began with Heart of Stars.
> 
> Spoilers: Canon? Basically? The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings for sure.
> 
> Disclaimer: So very much not mine.
> 
> Characters: Tauriel, Legolas, Sigrid, Tilda, Thranduil
> 
> Rating: PG

__

_Prologue - A Hope For The Waiting_

The raven almost came too late.

She knew immediately who sent it. The raven does not speak, so it must be one of those given to the city of Men. Instead there is a written note, in common. The hand is not that of the dwarf-scribe, nor the elder, but it is shaky with age. She had forgotten, when she left, that those who stayed behind would grow old.

The message was simple. _A dark one has come to our gate, and to the gate in the Mountain. We have turned it away. It seeks the Halfling, and Dain has sent messengers to Rivendell. It is time, my friend. You must return._ There was no word of Tilda, nor of Bain, though she knew that Bain had died. The death of a Lake-man was nothing to the Southrons, but the death of the King of Dale was whispered in the markets.

When Tauriel had first come here, seeking newer stars and clearer skies, she had covered her ears from their eyes. They thought her odd, too tall and too pale, but they welcomed her at the markets and inside the city walls. But the times darkened. She covered her whole head now, the fire of her hair and the pallor of her skin, and she never lingered long in one place, no matter how much she loved the stars there.

The message, in Sigrid’s failing hand, had been a boon. It gave her a reason to leave, to return. But not to the North, where her friends lived and aged without her. Her heart longed to see them one last time, if they still lived, but she knew that she could not go. She was needed somewhere else.

If dwarves had been sent to Rivendell, they must have passed through Mirkwood. Thranduil was treaty-bound to let them, but he would send emissaries of his own in their wake. Her Prince, gone from her mind these long years, would surely be among them. Thranduil would only send those he trusted, those most like him. Tauriel would go, and she would speak to Legolas whether he wished it or not. It was her hope that his heart might be softened too, though she did not put so much stock in herself.

She did not allow herself to doubt, had not all these years, but still she could not help but wonder if, had she stayed, they might have come to see each other as they had before, with the trust of a comrade in arms. She banished the thought as useless almost before she was done thinking it. The past was gone, and had she stayed, it was far more likely she would have turned cold too. Thranduil expected certain things from his guards, after all, and especially from his captains.

Instead she gathered her belongings. Her bow, wrapped carefully against the desert wind and heat, and her knives, kept sharp all this time, though not often used. She took up the trappings of her old life, and found they did not weigh upon her as she worried they might. Rather, they were a comfort to her, a promise of friends to meet and friends to remember.

She set her feet towards Rivendell, and flew thus. The lands around her fell away, blurring brown into green into grey as she came to the foot of the Misty Mountain chain. The air around the Gap of Rohan made her uneasy, and she hastened by it, at least turning North now that she had come so far West.

When she came to the hidden valley, she was apprehended immediately. She did not try to evade her captors, and doubted she could have if she had desired to, though she did wish them to visit her in her forest someday, to see how they fared. They only laughed with her, their faces split in the same smile, and took her to a well-appointed room where she waited.

She would not fret. Or stew. Or worry. She owed Legolas nothing, and he owed nothing to her. Perhaps he felt she had betrayed his father, and would scorn her. He had been so long under the trees, and Mirkwood was poisoned still. She could not know what he had become, so hidden from the sky and from the world.

At last, he came, as tall and as proud as she remembered, and she looked in vain for some whisper of kindness in his eyes. There was none.

“You have returned,” he said.

“I thought my council might serve, my Prince,” she said. “I have been a long time in the world.”

“We will sit in council soon enough,” he said. “But our representatives have already been chosen.”

“I do not think so highly of myself as that, my Prince,” she said. “I meant only that I can tell you what is happening where the Southrons muster, and what numbers they might have.”

“I will hear it, if it is necessary,” he said. And then he turned and left her.

Then, Tauriel worried. He was as cold as his father, as cold as she had feared. Some hours passed with nothing for her to do, and then she heard voices below her window, in the garden.

She looked down, and there he was again, with the twins that had brought her in, and a mortal Man she did not know. They sat close together, knees and elbows almost touching, the way that boys do when they fear their fathers will overhear them and think them foolish. And there it was, the kindness she had not seen when he spoke to her. He was not so cold as to be unreachable. She had only to keep reaching.

With that in mind, Tauriel turned from the window, and marshalled her thoughts anew. It was time, she decided, to once again become the Captain of the Guard.


	2. A Blade For The Rending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder that this series is canon compliant, such as it is.

**A Blade For The Rending**

Her people were well credited in Middle Earth. They could pass over snow. They did not tire. They did not sleep. They were fleet of foot and sure of aim. And yet, here she stood, unable to pass. Weary beyond measure. Too slow. And too late.

There was blood all around her, and screams. She had left the elven-guard behind, guarding the rear against a sortie she knew would not come. Her king was subtle in his punishment, but she no longer cared. Legolas had stayed at his side, safe, with the Halfling. It was Tauriel, as always, who strayed.

And still she was too late. The dwarves had been so hard-pressed as they fought with the Gate pressing into their backs. There was no place for them to go, no retreat. And no one to save them, because she was too far away when she saw the inevitable begin.

Thorin Oakenshield, with neither his bright blade nor his stout shield of legend, had fallen first. There were no trees of merit on this desolate mountainside, and Legolas had taken the blade. The axe that Thorin bore was dwarf-make, and strong, but it was still an axe, and once he had used it to hew the neck of the warg martriarch, it was lost to him. His throwing blades were not enough, and when he the Defiler cut him down, his nephews screamed, and stood to defend his body.

That was when she had seen them, when she had begun to run. She took down all that stood in her way, a sharp end for an orc and a hard push for a Man, dwarf or elf. She heard foul dwarvish curses, screamed when Fili fell, and the impossibly loud roar of a bear. And then Kili, too, was down.

The bear knew her, when he saw her, as a friend. This saved her from his wrath. He pulled the Deflier against his broad chest, claws ravening at the white orc’s back. Azog roared with anger and tried to sink his hooked hand into the bear’s broad back, but it was too late. Tauriel watched as Beorn took hold of Azog’s head in his great paw and began to twist. Azog’s roar raised in pitch, shattering her ears with its desperate whine. Then there was a sickening crack, and the shrieking stopped. Now the bear roared again, and held aloft a white head, horrid mouth stuck forever in the desperate grimace that had preceded his death.

Then the great beast knelt, and, with more gentleness than Tauriel could imagine, even had she not seen the violence from a moment ago, cradled Thorin in the same paws it had used to rip his nemesis in twain. Up it bore him, and away from the slaughter that was now engaged in earnest with the death of the hated Defiler.

Across the valley, Legolas’s bright hair shone and he moved, wreaking death and destruction upon the foes that would have taken the mountain. Tauriel wondered why he fought, now. What motivated him to action when before, he would have thought only of the Woods. She supposed he had determined that those which he killed now, he would not have to track through the forest. That, or he was overcome with the rage of battle, and would not stop until all were slain.

There were orcs aplenty, should she wish to slay as well. Yet Tauriel found she had no heart for it. Before, she had gone so willingly into battle. She protected her home. She protected her King. She protected her Prince. Now, her Prince did not need her.

The dwarves still fought, and the Men, for their homes. This she understood, though she could not bring herself to follow in their example. It was as though the bear had taken all her fire when he ripped Azog in half, and left her standing like a wraith upon the field.

Then, behind her, there was a noise she knew well. Orcs move differently in the woods than they do on the mountainside, but Tauriel had heard the sound of their scratching gait and scrabbling footfalls in her nightmares since she was an elfling come to live in the King’s hall because she had nowhere else to go. She was a child no more, and no longer did she dream of foul things. She did not know if the foul things ever dreamed of her. She did not often leave them alive.

Turning, she saw them. There were ten, maybe twelve, desperate and without mercy as always, and Tauriel was alone. A bitter smile played upon her mouth as she readied her blades. She had discarded quiver and bow some hours ago, when she’d run out of arrows, but she was still deadly. This time, however, she could feel a difference. The fire that had burned hot was now cold, the way that Thranduil turned when he commanded battle only under the eaves of his trees.

She took the first two as they charged, and the others hung back. She laughed at them, and with new rage they came at her again. Her blades were everywhere at once, and she was as merciless as a winter storm. They screamed as they fell, black blood covering black blood upon the ground, and she took them all. At last, they lay dead at her feet, and the only sound she could hear was the cold pounding of her own heart.

Below her, in the valley, the armies of the elves, Men and dwarves were almost done. Many stood about, leaning heavily on long swords and trying to make some count of the living and of the dead. The eagles soared on air currents, lifting orcs off of the ground and dropping them before plummeting down to pick up another. Everywhere she looked, there was darkness.

Tauriel fell to her knees and vomited, graceless. There was no one to see her weakness. The dwarf princes were dead.

+++

To Be Continued...


	3. A Heart For The Beating

**A Heart For The Beating**

She left Legolas standing on the promontory, and went back to the Lake. It was so wide and so deep that not even the dragon could mar it, though it was darker where Esgaroth had once stood, never to stand again. The water was cold, but ran clear. Blood from the mountain side did not wash into it. It would stay clean and good, reflecting starlight back up into the sky.

Tasting it, Tauriel felt her insides chill again. She had touched something during the last part of the battle. Some kind of rage that blazed with a light so brightly that she wondered if she had burned the orcs as much as cut them. She had seen her Prince burn thus, when he fought. It was his birth-right, after all, to burn with more than the light of the stars. Watching him had never made her blood run cold, as this did, though. She did not like to see such rage within herself.

Was this what the King had seen, all those centuries ago when he had accepted her into this Hall and, shortly after, his Guard? He had encouraged her when she took up the bow and then the blades. He had seen her lowly, on account of her birth. This she knew because he had told her on more than one occasion. But had he seen more than he had told her of? She would not be surprised if he had. Her King was close about many things, particularly those things which he thought he might one day put to his own use.

“Lady-elf?” The voice was thin, but not over-scared. “Lady-elf, are you wounded?”

It was Sigrid, of course, and Tilda in her shadow. Tauriel imagined that their father had left them in the Lake-men’s camp and taken their brother off to bear his shield in the battle. Of course they had not stayed in that place of marginal safety.

“No, Sigrid,” she replied, and the girls stepped into her view. “I am not wounded.”

“Please,” said Tilda. “We’ve heard nothing. Please tell us what has happened.”

“Your father lives, and your brother too,” Tauriel said. “Already they speak of him as King of Dale, but I do not know if he will take up that mantle. Your father is a practical man, and can see the burden that kingship would place upon him, and upon you.”

“He will do it,” Sigrid said. “He has waited on the whims of other men for long enough.”

“What you say is true,” Tauriel told her. She took another drink from the Lake. This one did not chill her as much as the first had. “What will you do as Lady of Dale? If your father does not re-marry, then the people will look to you.”

Sigrid paused, and her sister squeezed her hand.

“We will be ready, Lady-elf,” Tilda said. “My sister already knows some healing , no one runs a better house on a small budget. With a city, my sister will work wonders.”

Sigrid smiled, touched by her sister’s small faith, and Tauriel felt the last of the battle-weariness leave her bones. Yes, Dale would recover. A grim Man might lead it, but these two girls would set it upon strong foundations, and it would weather well.

“And the dwarves?” Sigrid asked.

“Thorin Oakenshield lies upon his death-bed,” she said. She would not flinch from the truth, and they would not thank her if she had. “Thranduil himself has seen to the wounds, but they are too grave. He will not last.”

“What of my dwarves?” Tilda asked.

Tauriel felt grief anew, but it was not cold this time. It was merely deep, and sad.

“Oin tends the wounded, and Bofur will sing and dance for many years once the Halls Under the Mountain are rebuilt.” She took a breath and let it out very slowly. Tilda saw it before she said the words, and there were tears in her eyes as Tauriel continued. “The princes fell upon the battlefield, defending their uncle from the Defiler. They will not rise again.”

Tilda fell into her sister’s arms, and the two girls wept for the bright prince who had kept them safe when the orcs attacked, and for his brother, whom they had helped to heal. Tauriel did not weep with them, but she wet a handkerchief for them when they were done, and sat by while they wiped their eyes.

“You should return to the camp,” Tauriel said. “That is where your father will look for you, and if he does not find you there, he will worry.”

“I know, Lady-elf,” Sigrid said. “We couldn’t stay there when the fighting was on. The Master talks still, and it makes me sick to hear him.”

“He will not be silenced, I think,” Tauriel said. “But when you father is King in Dale, he will be ignored, and that will be the worst for him.”

“Will you come with us, Lady-elf?” Tilda asked. “We do not have very much, but you are welcome to a share of it.”

“No, Tilda,” she said. “I must go forth. The battle weighs heavily upon my heart, and cold, and I must go away from here to find the warmth of myself again. But I thank you for the offer, and name you elf-friend, should you wish it. My naming does not carrying the might that other’s would, but there are elves who will acknowledge it, should you ever make the claim.”

“Thank you, Lady-elf,” Sigrid said. She understood the gift of such a designation, and would explain it to Tilda in time.

“Tauriel, please, if we are to be friends.”

“Should you return, Tauriel, we will make you welcome in Dale,” Sigrid said. “And if anything comes crashing through our roof, we will happily let you deal with it.”

They turned, and went back towards the meagre fires of the Lake-man’s camp. They would wait there for their father and brother to return, to name them Ladies of Men and take up their new places in this Middle Earth. And they would do well by it.

Above her, the sun had begun to set, pulling her light behind her as she descended. Eärendil was barely visible to her eyes, and yet she felt its light. There was hope, after all, while light remained. Tauriel smiled.


	4. A Desert For The Weathering

**A Desert For The Weathering**

The desert sky is clearer than she could have imagined. Not only are there no trees to block her view, there are rarely any clouds. At night, the sky is an overturned bowl above her head, and she can more of the stars than she ever thought possible. Sometimes they shone so brightly that she thought she might be able to reach out and touch them, or perhaps fall into their midst, and travel the skies herself.

That did, of course, not come to pass. The stars remained distant, but they were warmer to her sight than they had been, and in the cold of the desert nights, she knew that her heart was healing.

The Haradrim have made her as welcome as she expected. She wrapped her head as they did before she arrived at their first outpost. It was practical, keeping the sand out and somehow catching every breeze that could cool her, and it also concealed her ears. They thought her an odd woman, and left her to her eccentricities.

She was careful not to linger too long.

The years drew on, and she felt a shift in the spirit of the Southrons she encountered. When she had first come, they had looked at her pale skin and doubled the price of their food. Now, they refused to sell it to her at all. She did not mind, precisely, because she had learned what was fair to eat soon after arriving in the desert and could feed herself, but it still surprised her.

There were more men with swords, more Mumakil being fit for harness. They were preparing for war. And Tauriel knew where they would turn, if they sought battle.

This was the evil of which Thranduil was so afraid. He had faced it before, when it was strong, and it had galled him enough that he feared it in its weaker form. This was The Enemy of the first born, whispering doubt and malice and hate upon the wind that stirred her clothes.

She did not let her heart be moved by it. She had felt great pain, of course, but she had known joy and love too, and it was those to which she clung when the nightmares swirled around her. She thought of bright hair and brighter eyes, running through the forest. She thought of clever fingers and an easy smile, offered as though it cost nothing to give. And she knew peace, amidst the growing darkness.

She knew she should return to her kin, yet she could not bring herself to leave. The Enemy was not yet strong, and she might learn of its weaknesses, or at least of the Southron fighting force, if she stayed. And the stars were still so, so bright. So she wrapped her hair all the better, covered her face as well as her ears, and remained, watchful to the last.

It was strange to see. The markets still sold bright flowers and fresh fruits. Children laughed as they ducked between the stalls, and shrieked with glee as they bathed the baby mumakil in the wadis. But there were men, too, tall and straight, and with a darkness to their eyes that made her uncomfortable. Their numbers grew as the years progressed, and their darkness deepened.

At last, she could no longer deny the truth she saw before her. War was coming, and Evil grew. She ought to have returned to give warning, but perhaps her words would not have carried weight. Who could she tell? The new King in Dale did not know her, and she was not sure she would be welcome Under the Mountain. She had forfeited her right to request audience with Thranduil, and she had no doubt that he would simply bury any news she brought. Who was she, a lowly Silvan elf, to seek out the counsel of the Wise? Even Mithrandir would have better sources that she.

And that was how the Enemy snared her. It could not make her afraid of a fight or afraid of death, but it could play upon her insecurities and upon her sense of worth. The stars were darkened to her eyes, and she stayed in the desert even after pledging herself to leave. Despair grew in her heart, and she lamented ever coming to the desert even as she could not leave it. She did not forget the princes she held so dear, but she did forget that they saw in her something that they might have denied their fathers for.

Her spirit thinned. She was but an elf in the desert, and the Enemy found her easy prey. There were none to remind her that she was no one’s hunt, not since the orcs had killed her parents and she had sworn to end all evil, no matter the cost. She did not sleep, but she lay upon the sand in the stark sun, and faded in its brightness.

One night, the darkness did not close in as tightly as it had before. She saw pinpricks of light above her head, something that recalled to her A Elbereth Gilthoniel, and kindled a white glittering fire in her heart. She sat up, and the light increased, as though it looked towards her, alone, of every creature in Middle Earth.

She stood on her feet in the desert sand and remembered.

And in the morning, the raven came.


	5. Eyes For The Seeing

**Eyes For The Seeing**

He came to see her before he left. She had heard about his volunteering, of course. It was a secret council, but Elrond’s house was full of those he trusted, and from Glorfindel to the scullions, they all knew his business.

“My Prince, I wish you as safe a journey as you might have,” she said.

She did not know the details of the route, but there were only so many roads, and the ones she had passed on her journey here felt foul underneath her feet.

“That is not all you wish,” he said. He sat, and there was her Prince again, the one for whom she had been so proud to protect the Wood.

“No, Legolas, it is not.”

“Then tell me,” he said. “For I have spent these years at tasks beneath the trees, and you have seen other skies.”

She told him of the Southrons, then, the ones she had come to know. Some had been kind, even when they saw her pale skin. She had not ever let them see her pointed ears. They had thought her a strange Northern woman, and given her no more consideration.

“But that changed,” she said. The sun was setting on the eternal autumn of Rivendell, but it did not grow cold. Tauriel did not wonder why.

“How so?” he asked.

“They whispered of the evils in the North,” she told him. “Of stolen lands and stolen birthrights. Old lies, but the strongest ones. They did not like my pale face, then.”

“I am glad you were safely returned,” he said. “How came you here?”

“I had a message from Sigrid, daughter of Bard.”

“I remember her.” He nearly smiled. “And her sturdy house.”

“In any case, she told me of the dark visitor to Erebor, and bid me to return. I think she meant me to come to the Mountain and give council there, but I knew that you would be here at your father’s bidding, and I thought...”

She didn’t say it, but he understood.

“I have not become so cold as to ignore hope,” he said. “For hope has come, even under the boughs of Mirkwood. I have seen it there.”

“I am glad,” she said. “I would ask one more thing of you, my Prince.”

“Am I still?” he asked. “Or did you leave your Prince at Erebor?”

“Have you lessened your loyalty to you father by pledging your help the Halfling?” she fired back. He held up his hands in defeat.

“The dwarf,” she said. “The red-haired one, with the simplest braids in his beard.”

“I will not soon forget him,” Legolas said. “He is brave, if somewhat foolhardy.”

“He is their cousin, my Prince,” Tauriel said. “He did not march with them because it was decided that some of the line should stay out of the quest, but that line is strong now, and he will march instead with you.”

“I had not thought of such connection,” Legolas admitted. “What would you have me do?”

“His hatred of elves is new. It is learned, not experienced like his father’s is. He has never been our prisoner. We have never left him to starve.”

Legolas shifted in his seat, as discomfited as an elf-prince might be.

“Legolas, do not shut him out,” Tauriel said. “I do not expect you to soften your heart completely, not as I did anyway, but listen to him. His cousins would have welcomed peace between our peoples in time. I saw it in them. Let us see if he will do the same.”

Legolas said nothing for a long time. The stars came out, bright points against the clear black sky. It was dark, yes, but the kind sort of darkness. Where the hearth burned bright and friends were close at hand. There was singing in the valley, bright voices that were not elves and did not sing of elvish woes.

“For these words, you crossed Middle Earth?” Legolas said at length.

“For peace, I would cross the bent sea,” she replied.

“It shall be as you say,” he said. “I will keep my heart open. I think, with the Halflings, that will be inevitable anyway.”

They laughed, and it was not the same as it had once been, but it was still good.

“My Captain, I have a task for you,” Legolas said, standing to leave.

“As you bid, my Prince.”

“You will go next to Dale, I believe?” he said.

“Yes,” she replied. “I would see Sigrid one last time, and help her nephew and Dain prepare themselves for what is to come.”

“Consider, please, returning to my father for the final battle,” Legolas said. “I do not know where he will make his stand, but my heart will be easier if you are with him.”

“He will not welcome me back,” Tauriel said. “Unless he is more changed than you seem to be.”

“I have sent him a message,” Legolas said. “And my other Captains will vouch for you. It will not be as it was, I know, but I would still have you stand with him, as I cannot do.”

She saw then, that the weight of the quest was already upon him. He had volunteered with his whole heart, and did not regret it, but in his mind, he saw how the coming fight would reach to all corners of Middle Earth. He would be far from home when the Enemy attacked, and he might never see it again.

She bowed her head.

“It will be as you say, my Prince,” she said.

He clasped her hand, holding tightly to her for a moment before letting go.

“My friend,” he said. “May we meet again, when there is peace.”

“When there is peace, Legolas,” she said. The Hobbits’ voices filled the air, but she could still hear the music of autumn stars, looking down on Rivendell from afar. Her heart swelled with memories of the Greenwood, and how she longed to see it restored. She had not shed blood often since the Battle of the Five Armies, and now that she had reason to shed it again, she was heartened by the promise of what this fight would restore. “When there is peace.”

_And in the Great Years, when darkness was at its greatest strength, and The Enemy drew his form about him, two wood-elves met at Imladris and healed their friendship there. And though their paths did soon separate again, each held a part of the heart of the other. And though their parting did wound them, their hearts were stronger for it, and open to chance that might not have otherwise been. And in Ithilien did that chance bear fruit, where the races of Men, Elves and Dwarves dwell together.  
\- - The Latter Days of the House of Éorl (translation)_

+++

**finis**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gravity_Not_Included, January 26, 2014


End file.
